


Corey Taylor: The Red Bull

by skysonfire



Series: Corey Taylor [7]
Category: Slipknot (Band), Stone Sour
Genre: #8, Corey Taylor - Freeform, Corey Todd Taylor, Devilish Midweek Divulgence, F/M, One Shot Collection, Smut with a Story, www.devilish-midweek-divulgence.tumblr.com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the Devilish Midweek Divulgence "hump day" blog (www.devilish-midweek-divulgence.tumblr.com), this piece features Corey Taylor. </p>
<p>Not only is this my first Corey Taylor piece, but it may be my favorite -- it is certainly the most personal. A very long time ago, while at a show in New Jersey, I met Corey, although at the time, I had no idea it was him - not until later. We had a very nice exchange: he lent me his lighter and told me that he hated Slipknot. When I returned to my seat, I remember telling my friend that I had met the cutest boy. For years I've thought about what may have happened differently if I had recognized him, or if I hadn't been so shy. This piece is kind of born from those feelings -- the idea of reuniting with a perfect stranger. I hope that the tone is as haunting as I intend. </p>
<p>Photo edits associated with this piece can be found on the Tumblr blog site. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Corey Taylor: The Red Bull

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Devilish Midweek Divulgence "hump day" blog (www.devilish-midweek-divulgence.tumblr.com), this piece features Corey Taylor. 
> 
> Not only is this my first Corey Taylor piece, but it may be my favorite -- it is certainly the most personal. A very long time ago, while at a show in New Jersey, I met Corey, although at the time, I had no idea it was him - not until later. We had a very nice exchange: he lent me his lighter and told me that he hated Slipknot. When I returned to my seat, I remember telling my friend that I had met the cutest boy. For years I've thought about what may have happened differently if I had recognized him, or if I hadn't been so shy. This piece is kind of born from those feelings -- the idea of reuniting with a perfect stranger. I hope that the tone is as haunting as I intend. 
> 
> Photo edits associated with this piece can be found on the Tumblr blog site. Enjoy!

Light from the bathroom soaked the room’s carpet with an angular splash, illuminating the customary hotel appointments: a large king-size bed, simple end tables, a weathered desk, a pair of armchairs and a minibar.

In the shadows beyond the light’s source, she shed her clothes like an old skin and selected one of his work shirts from his case. Pulling it around her shoulders, she savored his scent on its collar – so distant and familiar. The soft fabric of the worn garment swept against the sensitivity of her breasts, and an anticipatory surge coursed through her. There was something ancient about how he affected her; something primal and instinctive, as though they had lived many lives both together and apart since the world’s first sunrise.

She wandered about the room, touching the soft leather of his wallet, carelessly strewn on the desk and slipping her bare foot into one of his black and white checkered Vans sneakers. Rough and dirty, the sneaker’s rubber was yellowing with age and it made her think about their own relationship; tired but reliable, frayed yet comfortable.

When he emerged from the bathroom, the shower’s steam swirled about him like so many hovering phantoms. His skin shimmered with moisture and his tattoos blazed in stark contrast to his alabaster complexion. His blonde hair was different than she remember it; shaved high on the sides, with a long strip of soft, wet sheen running down the middle. She could see his pupils dilate in his deep set, aqua stare, and he pushed a hot palm through his shirt to grip her waist and entice her close.

He contemplated her face, and for a brief moment, she thought he meant to speak. Conversation between them was not customary after such a long pause in time.

“Don’t spoil it,” she whispered, lowly, a serious tone on her tongue.

His plush lips slid over her own like melting ice and she groaned through her nose when she felt his hips press into her; a desperate heat and hard yearning translating through his lose drawstring pants.

She knew it was difficult for him – this man whose thoughts and mouth moved like the wings of a hummingbird. He was always the embodiment of some extreme emotion: excited, passionate, angry, frantic, but in these moments he was calm and methodic. His heartbeat, a pulsing rush, was somewhat steadier, and she guided him in a way that she knew would dominate – like the Red Bull driving unicorns into the sea.

Balancing on her toes, she brought her mouth to his neck and pushed her lips against the tattoo that beat on his skin. Her hands stroked at the compact muscles of his abdomen and he pet gently along her ribs and down her waist — his fingertips toying desperately at her hip bone.

When she pushed him onto one of the chairs next to the desk, she took her time straddling his hips, one knee on one side, one knee on the other, and she hovered over him, taking his face in her hands and drinking in the taste of his mouth, lined with sweet tobacco and hints of whiskey. He dragged his middle finger between her legs, finding the tender spot that made her jaw slack, rolling the tip over and over until she drew out his length and descended on him, feeling his scorching heat against her slick embrace.

Outside the door of the room, she could hear scampering feet and the hoots of drunken revelers. His music drifted down the hall, so reverent and angry, so passionate and minor. Her blood rushing in time with the heavy riffs, she oscillated her hips on him and he groaned, biting his lip.

“Oh, God, yes.” Her voice didn’t feel like her own, but some echo of a time long past.

He smiled at her, his flawless face bending in the dark. She remembered thinking that he was such a cute boy all those years ago.

“Shh, love,” he kissed her gently as her body shook against him. “Don’t spoil it.”


End file.
